"How did you get this number?" England asked, irritated, into her telephone. She was always very defensive about her telephone number, and she had just changed it. She didn't want people knowing her number unless she had given it to them, and she had not given her number to Russia. It sent a shiver down her spine just to think about how he had acquired it, especially with the Cold War hanging over every nation's head.
"It's not important. I can come in, da?" he asked over the phone. His voice was crisp through the line, unaffected by her harsh tone. England remembered him well from their times as allies in the World Wars. She hadn't heard pleasant things about him since.
"I can't get my head round you," she murmured, half aware of what she was saying, glancing out of her front windows, "Of course you're not coming over. Snap out of it. You're not making any sense."
"You couldn't be more wrong," he said softly before the line clicked as he set down the phone.
England bit her lip, and hesitantly set down her phone. This country was in the middle of a crisis with America over Cuba. What was he doing on her land, talking to her? He could potentially blow the world to bits, and he was in England?
She could only fret over the reasons for a few seconds before the doorbell rang. She straightened herself, and walked determinedly to the front door. She knew she would find Russia on the other side. She pulled her heavy door open, and, indeed, the towering man was on her door step. He stooped to enter, and only gave her a nod before walking around her into the living room and settling himself onto her couch by the telephone.
She wanted to kick him out, but knew she no longer had the power to. There were certain disadvantages to no longer being an empire. This was not something she wanted to be a part of, and she didn't want hostile negotiations in her living room. "Dial America's number," he ordered.
She walked to the phone, resisting the urge to be obstinate the entire time or remark sarcastically upon his knowledge of her number, but not America's. With her finger on the rotary she gave him a once over. She could see the strain in him. He and America were racing full tilt while the rest of the world just watched on the sidelines. She knew what that was like, and couldn't honestly say she missed it. "You want to help me, da?" he asked, without it sounding much like a question and didn't look at her, "I can tell. During the war…I could see it. The way you acted…" He trailed off.
"I never gave out these signs," she snapped, "Anything I did during the war I did to end it. If your definition of ally is different than mine, I misunderstood-"
"You misunderstood no meaning," he interrupted. There was no anger in his voice, but it felt passive aggressive. She glowered at him.
"Snap out of it," she repeated, brusquely dialing America then handing him the handset, "I'm not falling for this one."
He took the handset from her, and held it to his ear. She turned from him, and sat in her nearby armchair. She sat down gracefully, smoothing out her skirt as she did. She crossed her legs primly, causing the skirt of her dress to fold around her legs perfectly. She watched silently as Russia explained the situation to America. She could hear America's voice, but not what he said. Russia's face gave away nothing.
Eventually, Russia fell silent. He sighed, and held the handset away from his ear. "Hold," he told her by way of explanation.
He finally glanced over to her. She refrained from flinching. "Why is love surrender?" he asked. England had grown used to Russia saying or asking random things. Asking a philosophical question during a break in near atomic war negotiations, however, was new. She raised an eyebrow, and he continued, "If love is surrender, then whose war is it anyways?"
England did her best to control her blush. Russia had no idea, but to her it had seemed like he had made a reference to the Hundred Years War. She and France had almost gone too far then. She coughed, using it to cover her embarrassment, as that particular time in her life was not something she tried to remember. "It's everyone's, I suppose," she answered as truthfully as she could.
Noise returned to the phone. Russia placed it against his ear once more. Negotiations were begun again. "Do just what I tell you, and no one will get hurt," he warned.
England stood from her chair. She was no longer interested in this. She walked to her kitchen to make some tea, for herself and her guest. She could still hear Russia talking as the pot boiled. She poured the hot water into a more decorative tea pot, and placed in the appropriate leaves to let it steep for a few minutes. She took two of the matching tea cups, and filled them three quarters of the way full. She set the two cups and the pot on a tea tray already equipped with sugar and cream. She left out the biscuits, feeling that they were unwanted. Russia might be an unwanted guest, but it was better to be a good host than discover the consequences of doing otherwise.
She lifted the tray easily. She walked slowly and carefully back to the living room. As she passed the door frame, Russia focused in on her. He almost seemed to be glaring at her. "Don't come any closer," he warned her, "Cause I don't know how long I can hold my heart in two."
England nearly dropped her tray. She set it down on the nearest level surface, hands shaking. She remembered all the times she had separated her heart, leaving the heart that made her a nation in England, and carrying the heart that made her a person with her. She had become a pirate once, and had almost killed Hitler before the war. The disagreements between those two halves of herself generally resulted in pain when a side won out. Russia the Man was fighting with Russia the Nation over her, and one of them at the very least wanted to harm her. She began sipping at her tea to calm herself as she watched Russia from where she stood as he continue to talk into the phone.
Russia held the phone away from his ear again. "Soon Mother Russia will have all of the world," he said plainly, "It seems almost too easy."
England bristled at his remarks. It had taken her so much to just get a quarter of the world. Why should he get it all so easily? He had atomic bombs, of course. "If you think that it's so damn easy, what do you need me for?" she quipped peeved and jealous.
"You're what makes it easy," he said with a smile.
"It's not worth it," she admitted both to him, and herself. She knew the costs very well, and to be left with this was not as satisfying as she wished it to be.
"How could it not be?" he asked, looking slightly confused.
"You won't understand unless you've gone through what I have. It's very-"
"It will be worth it," he stated, convinced of his own words.
"Just look at the state of you," she said, gesturing to him, "Snap out of it, you're not listening to this. And just for once, could you let me finish a sentence?"
England was feeling more irritated by the second. Nations often ran over each other with words. They were creatures of actions, not words, but they were entering a new era. England knew that now was the time when words were desperately needed to be used, and she was good at using them. It was clear, however, that not many other nations were in agreement.
America squawked on the phone again, and England was ignored. Russia talked for a few minutes, but softly so England couldn't hear. His eyes never left hers. Another warning slipped from his lips, "Make no sudden movements, and no one need get hurt."
England was becoming more unnerved by the second. "You're making me nervous," she whispered almost to herself in an attempt to laugh her anxiety off. It didn't work in the slightest.
Russia pulled the phone away again. He gave her another smile, "This will be good for you."
She scowled, and set down her tea cup. "If you know what's good for me, why would I be leaving you?" she remarked grumpily, referring to them separating as allies.
She headed for her library, not wanting to spend another moment with the man. She walked a little too close to him. He latched onto her wrist with his free hand, and tugged her towards him. She tripped over her own heels, and landed heavily and squarely in his lap without evoking a single sound from him. He kept his hand clasped around her wrist, and lifted his arm over her head to let it rest on her waist.
America was on the phone again, but this time she didn't care. "I've had it up to here," she hissed at him, while she tried to wriggle and pull herself free, "Don't ever try that again."
He ignored her and spoke to America instead. He stopped. "Why are you so quiet so suddenly?" she asked, tilting away to try and see his face.
"Go on," he said, just louder than a whisper, "I bet you're just dying to try me."
She had no idea if he was talking to her, or to America. He grinned eerily, and placed the phone against her ear, "Say hello to America."
She glanced up at him, trying to figure out what this would do for him and if it she should go along with it. "America?"
"England?" he asked back. He sounded frustrated and exasperated at the same time.
Russia pulled the phone away before either of them could say anything else. "We have an agreement, da?" he asked.
Seconds later, his grin widened. "Good,"
He set down the phone, and released England. She leapt up from his lap, and nearly ran into her armchair. He took a step towards her. She straightened to her full height, but was still pitifully shorter than him. He reached out a hand and cupped her chin. His leather gloves were cool against her skin, but his touch was light. "I told you it would be good for you," he said, slowly stroking his thumb across her cheek, "You just saved the world from nuclear annihilation."
He leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. He pulled back, and walked himself to the front door. He pulled the door open, but looked back at her, "Come join me anytime to celebrate."
He exited her house, and shut the door behind him. England glanced out her window to see him disappear from her line of sight.
That day, the Cuban Missile Crisis ended.
England was visiting Russia to show him a song she had recently found. He wanted to walk and show her around, again. She decided the song could wait.
He was bundling her up. She had not worn enough for his cold as she always underestimated it. He continued to treat her like a doll, but, once again, she didn't mind it.
He took her small, feminine hand, and led her outside. He kept her close to him, and he buffeted some of the wind from her. He told her at least one thing about every building they passed, and she enjoyed just listening to his voice. An hour or so later, they stopped on a bridge. She figured this was as good a time as any. She pulled out her iPod, and handed him an ear bud. He accepted the bud, and stuffed it into his ear as she put in her own.
She played the song. It sounded like a conversation they both remembered clear as day from between the lines. There was only one part missing. He turned to her and asked with a smile that could almost be described as cheeky, "So, what do we do now?"
I really like the song of the same title by Frou Frou, and I thought it described Russia and the situation well. The other character, of course, had to be England as the song is English. England was made female because it wouldn't have worked had he been a guy. I hope you enjoyed, and please review! I don't own anything but the plot, just in case you were wondering, by the way.
I also wanted to say I'm considering writing a second chapter to this, either paired with another Frou Frou song, or a regular chapter. Let me know if it's worth it for me to pursue, and please review!